Party Time
by DaVinci13
Summary: GS. Grissom is regretting going to Catherine's party big time, until someone else comes along to make him think maybe this wasn't such a bad idea.


Disclaimer: CSI and anything related definitely isn't mine.

Party Time

This has to be the worst way I've ever spent a Saturday, Grissom thought miserably as he glanced at the clock from the corner he occupied in Catherine's living room. Four o'clock in the afternoon.  
"I should be asleep," he muttered to himself quietly, downing the rest of his beer. His third since he'd arrived, and he hadn't even been there for more than an hour. Almost immediately upon his arrival at the party he'd greeted his colleagues from the graveyard shift and retreated to what he now claimed as his corner. He'd always been good at blending in, and the few of Catherine's friends who wandered by and tried to make conversation were easily discouraged with a look and pointed silence. He would come to Catherine's damn parties, but he didn't have to enjoy it. The music that filled the room was definitely not anything he'd listen to if he had a choice, but he'd stupidly agreed to come here and now he was stuck until shift started in a few hours. He didn't understand how people could find these things fun. They were torture, in his opinion. Too hot, too crowded, and too damn loud. If only he had just said no when Catherine asked him to come.  
  
He could see her now, talking to Sara and some guy and laughing like crazy. They were all laughing like crazy. At least someone's having fun, he thought grimly. They weren't the only ones, however. Nick, Greg and Warrick were also busy – getting the numbers' of three of Catherine's girlfriends. Brass could be seen slumped on the sofa, drunk as hell – it was his night off, he could afford it – beside a similarly drunk guy who must have been a friend of a friend of a friend who was invited to the party...

Grissom chuckled humourlessly at the thought, and then groaned. He had to get out of there. Hoping to get his mind off of things, he vacated his corner for a moment to grab another beer, and then retreated once again and began to scope out the territory. Which was the quickest route to the door?  
  
It took him five minutes to get to the door, even after planning out his route carefully. People kept stopping him, wanting to talk to him. Maybe they figured since he was out of his corner, and was finishing up his fourth beer, he might be in a better mood.

Finally, he managed to get through the door and he stepped out into the hot sun of the Vegas day. Normally, Grissom would have hated the heat and the bright sun that hurt his eyes – one of the reasons he loved working the night shift was the cool night air, and the darkness – but right then he all he cared about was the fact that it wasn't heat caused by a house full of sweaty bodies. Making his way around the back of the house, he settled himself on Lindsay's 'brand new second-hand swing set,' as she put it, and closed his eyes. There was an old tree standing right behind the set, and the cool breeze that rustled through the leaves felt good on his skin and his ears after the loudness of the music inside. He felt himself relaxing almost instantly at the slow swaying motion of the swing as he pushed himself with his foot.

"Grissom?" His eyes snapped open as he heard Sara calling his name, and he took another sip of his beer as he waited for her to find him.  
She smiled as she walked around the corner of the house and saw him sitting there. "I saw you come out," she explained. "Couldn't take the heat, huh?" she asked teasingly, sitting down on the swing beside him.  
Grissom gave her a look. "How can anybody?" he countered irritably.  
Sara just smiled, and helped herself to a sip of his beer. For a moment they sat in silence, and then Sara spoke. "Do you know how amusing it is to watch you at parties like this, Gris?" she asked, smiling.  
"I didn't realize my misery was the source of your amusement," Grissom muttered, emptying his beer as Sara tried to steal it again. "Nice try."  
Sara grinned. "I just can't help it. It's so hilarious the way you stand there in your corner, sulking and glaring at anyone who gets to close. Oh, and don't forget the way you look so pissed every time you finish another beer and have to leave your little hideout to get more."  
"I don't sulk," Grissom grumbled, but he couldn't help but feel a little pleased at the thought that Sara had been watching him. "You do realize beer is a necessity to get through these god damn things you call parties? And anyways, my corner isn't a 'hideout,' as you so kindly put it." He was only complaining to hear himself complain, and Sara found it highly amusing and endearing.  
"_Your_ corner, Grissom?" she questioned, trying to hold back her laughter. He gave her another dirty look, which only served to cause her grin to grow wider. "So I take it you came out here to continue sulking in peace?"  
"Yeah, that's it," Grissom replied dryly, giving himself a good push off the ground and letting his beer bottle drop to the grass underneath him.  
Sara pushed off beside him, and soon they were rocking gently in time together. The atmoshpere was relaxed and comfortable. It was the first time they'd been so comfortable with each other in a while.  
"Mind if I stick around and sulk with you until we can leave for work?" Sara asked hesitantly, half humourously, half seriously.  
Grissom felt a smile tug at his lips, and he glanced at her, suddenly glad he'd come to this god-forsaken party. "Sure, why not?" he replied as he caught her eye, and suddenly they were both laughing.  
Maybe parties aren't so bad after all, Grissom thought to himself with a smile.


End file.
